


Caught

by felandaris



Series: Another Place And Time [15]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Consensual Sex, F/M, Finger Sucking, Lingerie, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Shameless Smut, Voyeurism, sub!cullen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 04:59:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8519452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felandaris/pseuds/felandaris
Summary: Watching the Inquisitor undress? Naughty, naughty, Commander.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uriellactaea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uriellactaea/gifts).



> For the utterly marvellous Uriellactaea featuring her gorgeous Uriell Trevelyan and a slightly Sub!Cullen.

Lace frills whisper with the movement that exposes them to the retreating sun’s golden hue. Dainty streaks of light shatter against a mass of curls. Fabric sinks further, revealing exercise-sculpted legs veiled in sheer white.

Uriell smiles, running a fingertip up her left thigh before she adjusts the stocking- not without letting the garter snap against her buttock with a satisfying smack.

There’s a break in the room’s atmosphere, as if someone were holding a breath that was barely noticeable to begin with.

Sticking out a hip, she places her hand in the curve of her waist. A coy look over a rolled shoulder has her posing like for one of those Orlesian _gentlemen’s portraits_.

“I know you’re there.” There’s no response except for that same disruption of her quarters’ quiet. Again she smiles. “You can come out.”

Movement ensues- shuffling, _audible_ in its awkwardness. A flushed Cullen emerges from behind the oak dresser, rubbing the back of his neck.

 “I-,“ is all he manages before she interrupts him- by spinning around in a dancer’s fluid motion, hair a floating frame reminiscent of a ballgown’s skirt. She grants him a moment to take in the sight- the ivory layers of lace hugging her bosom and hips; legs lengthened by delicate stockings and the rows of pearls at her neck, just so dipping in between her breasts.

Cullen swallows, opens his mouth again. This time a shapely eyebrow cuts him off, rising a questioning half-inch. It’s Uriell who speaks, and her tone asserts their roles. The velvety smooth timbre with its sharp edge tells him exactly what he’s to expect.

“I know what you were doing.” A sideways bob of her hip initiates her first step. “You were watching me like a common lecher.” She keeps walking, feet silent on the wooden floors. Cullen doesn’t respond but the brief rise of his eyebrows, the parting and closing of his lips signal understanding.

_The Inquisitor dictates the terms._

“We’re going to be even.” She gets closer. Cullen is starting to walk backwards.

“You’re going to strip down to your smalls.” Uriell stops, allowing Cullen to catch himself from stumbling into the bed he’s backed up against.

“And then you’ll be punished.” Her smile widens, full and warm, and Cullen’s Adam’s apple bobs with a laboured swallow.

“Yes,” he croaks.

“Yes…?” Uriell sings, dragging a finger down his plated chest.

Another swallow, and the faint aroma of sweat. “Yes, Inquisitor.”

Never breaking the smile, Uriell cocks that brow again in gentle encouragement.

The cloak falls first, crimson and fur cascading downwards, filling the small space between them.

His gauntlets follow, rattling about as eager fingers fumble with stubborn buckles. Boots all but fly off as if they were weightless. When he gets to his belt Cullen slows, eyes meeting Uriell’s.

She’s been studying every movement, her mind removing the next layer before he does.

He’s teasing, though, hands leaving his midriff to tug at his shirt instead. Worn linen unveils sallow skin, sunny rays draw flimsy patterns onto defined muscle. Uriell’s sharp inhale coaxes the hint of a grin from Cullen, and her expression hardens at once.

Cullen’s gaze drops and he returns to his task, working on the belt at last. Its metallic clicks make for the sole sound in the large room as Uriell looks on, transfixed.

His trousers sink down, revealing lily-white smalls with appetising contours. Uriell’s groan is low, throaty, almost muffled by the yelp that escapes Cullen as she lunges, landing them both on the bed and pinning him down by the arms.

Weight shifts, as does the mattress. Uriell’s mane dangles, grazing Cullen’s bare chest. Heat meets bodily heat, male and female musk merge into sultry intoxication and skin flushes, prickling with anticipation.

They breathe into each other- letting go of tension, soaking up one another’s scent. Releasing her grip on his wrists, Uriell caresses a trail up the insides of Cullen’s forearm, smiling once more when he shudders from the tickle. She sits up, lowering her crotch onto his, chuckling at his gasp.

“I’m not going to restrain you,” she whispers, “you will do so yourself.”

The Commander’s tongue flicks out a fraction, drawing a half-line up to his scar. Eyes fixated on hers, he nods. “Yes.”

Uriell embarks on her journey. Tightly packaged biceps, sinewy shoulders, shapely pecs she explores with her fingers, lips, the tips of her hair. His reactions are her guide, whether a rise in breathing, a hoarse _ah_ or the sheets’ slight rustle when his toes curl. Whenever his moans lengthen or his hips begin rocking she takes her cue to move on; to a nipple she worries with her teeth, or his wrists that she licks then blows on.

When she abandons his belly button after letting her necklace dip in and out of the shallow oval, she hums, nearing the cotton tent holding his arousal. A quick jab of her tongue against the hard outline has him jumping, giving a shocked gasp. Again Uriell retreats , nuzzling his upper thighs instead. The rich musk radiating from where they meet causes a pleasant tingle in her own smalls.

Once she’s tugged on a few fuzzy leg hairs she sits back. Her head tilts as if in a silent question and the smile doesn’t fade as she reaches behind herself. Under his ardent stare she holds the lace to herself after the clasps have clicked, until his neck cranes and parted lips plead quietly. The band drops, cool air teasing rosy nipples into stiff points. A sigh of her own escapes Uriell as her hands rise up her torso, cupping the subtle handfuls and pressing, moulding them against each other. Shiny pearls play over milky skin, frame darkening peaks, and a hand lifts from Cullen’s side.

At once Uriell shimmies out of reach with a coquettish shake of her head, giggling at his frustrated grunt. Deciding he deserves a little mercy, she leans down, freed breasts jiggling. Both hiss when a nipple brushes over a thigh. The waistband of Cullen’s smalls sits dry and rough between her teeth. She tugs, and the garment comes off with an upwards roll of his pelvis.

Cullen’s relieved sigh is echoed by Uriell’s intrigued hum as his prick bobs from its confines. An irate crimson and thick enough to fill her hand, it stands proud and tall from the nest of ashen-blonde curls.

Uriell’s nail touches him first, drawing a teasing line along pulsing veins and silken skin. Once near the crown her finger tilts to touch him with its pad. She encircles the rim where the head stretches from a layer of foreskin. Leaning in, she maintains eye contact as her lips close in; hums when her tongue peeks out; grins as she sneaks past and Cullen sobs.

His palm is getting damp and his fingers tremble as she lifts them towards her. The callouses tickle and Cullen’s groan resonates between her legs. She sucks his digits, one by one, licks at them, like she knows he’s _craving_ her to do with his cock.

“Please,” he mumbles, and Uriell continues for another moment before letting his thumb plop from her mouth.

_Enough._

She grants him no respite, diving in to suck his fat length right in, his moan echoing hers. Smoother than his fingers, Cullen’s shaft tastes of soap and man, his musk leaving her dizzy. Sloppy noises make for an obscene rhythm to the melody of Cullen’s mewls and pleas. Uriell finds herself looking for friction of her own to soothe the growing throb at her midst.

Cullen’s chest is rising and sinking quicker with each bob of her head. His thighs are resembling against the odd brush of her breasts, and he’s pulsing wildly between her lips.

_He’s ready to come._

As if to confirm a single drop pearls from him, bitter on her greedy tongue. That’s when Uriell’s hand grips the base of his shaft with just enough pressure to keep him out of climax’s reach once more.

Cullen swears, slamming a fist on the mattress.                 

A tinge of sympathy and her own need force a decision. Uriell moves off Cullen  to tear off her knickers then takes him in hand once more.

She engulfs him with a wet slurp, and both moan. Before she knows she’s reaching for him, pulling him up, and then she’s in his laps and they rock, seeking lips and skin and friction.

Cullen’s fingers dig into her buttocks, certain to mark her, and she wouldn’t have it otherwise. He’s fucking her, now, hips shooting upwards in a frantic non-rhythm, pursuing the release she’s so cruelly been denying him. He grunts, sweats, fucks- but even with senses dimmed by carnal lust Cullen doesn’t forget about Uriell. A hand slips between them, thumb finding her gem, and she clings to his shoulders, rubbing into him.

Lips, teeth and nails lay claim, voices climb to falsetto whimpers and motions become frantic. Time stops as they come, clutching, spilling, panting. Then grips loosen and breaths steady but the lovers remain intertwined, listening to each other’s heartbeat and slurring giddy nonsense.

Uriell smiles into Cullen’s damp hairline, wrapping her arms tighter around his back. She traces shapes from one scar to another.

“Tell me this,” she says, reclining to face him, “how did you end up in here?”

Cullen chuckles, shaking his head. “I’d come up to discuss something and went into to the bath chamber. When I came out you’d arrived and were undressing, so I hid.”

Uriell nods. “But why didn’t you show yourself instead of watching me?”

The flush darkens. “I had a feeling once you found out you might become a little,” he grins, “ _agitated._ ”

“Is that so?” She tackles him with a giggle, and they wrestle, playfully, attacking each other with smooches.

The doors to the Inquisitor’s quarters don’t open again until the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> [Find me (and the boys) on Tumblr!](https://http://cullenstairshenanigans.t%20Tumblr.com) ʘ‿ʘ


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